Attaining Fullness of Life

We all want fullness of life, but we cannot will the end if we do not will the means.

The great Christmas Cycle of Feasts is all but closed — Candlemas remains, on February 2 — and the Church has moved into Ordinary Time. I remember when I first became a Catholic, decades ago, not really liking the term. “Epiphany” was what I knew as the season between the Epiphany and Lent, and there seemed nothing “ordinary” to me about being Catholic, as I was at last admitted to the sacraments and was granted possession of the fullness of faith in Scripture, Tradition, and the Magisterium. These were, and remain, priceless gifts to me. I remember my eyesight literally changing when I made my profession of faith, in February 1990. The world exploded open.

Consider how Ordinary Time begins. In yesterday’s Gospel, Jesus calls Simon and Andrew from their fishing and promises to make them “fishers of men,” then calling James and John. In today’s Gospel, Jesus preaches “with authority,” in such a way that he provokes the demons possessing a man, only to cast them out of the man, to the crowd’s amazement. Ordinary Time begins with the call to apostolate and with spiritual warfare. That’s Ordinary Time for an ordinary Catholic. We engage in the apostolate — the calling of people to a life of redemption that entails them calling others in turn — and we engage in spiritual warfare, doing battle with our sins and vices and helping others, to the extent we can, in their own such battles — as ordinary matters of life. To do less is to live less fully.

Beyond frequent participation in the sacraments — daily Mass, when possible, though the Church requires our participation only on Sundays and appointed holy days of obligation; monthly Confession, at least, and more frequently when possible, though, again, the Church asks only for Confession once a year, around Easter — we engage in the apostolate when in a state of grace we fulfill the ordinary duties of our states of life. That’s a fancy way of saying that when you and I are doing ordinary things in ordinary ways but in the state of grace, we are broadcasting the Light of Christ whether we know it or not. Loving our neighbor as ourselves begins with loving our spouses, kids, and grandkids, then the wider family, then our friends, then those with whom we work and make our lives. We may be called to dramatic things, big changes of life, huge apostolates — but first we must be found true in the ordinary things, the things we might take for granted and which God never does. We may never be called to the dramatic things. Sometimes the drama is the mortification of our egos to accept that what and who God has placed before us is enough and more than enough for the very best of our constant efforts. The drama arises out of the battles we wage with God because we refuse to wage battle with ourselves.

How well we broadcast that Light depends entirely upon the degree of our union with Christ, the depth with which we think His thoughts and act in His ways, the extent to which we go to war against our passions and vices and little lazinesses and concessions to comfort. The principals means in our possession are prayer, fasting, and alsmgiving. I say “in our possession” because you and I can pray, fast, and give alms anytime we so desire; the force of our resistance to praying, fasting, and almsgiving is a good barometer of the extent of our addiction to comfort and of our refusal to “pick up your Cross and follow me.”

Prayer illumines the intelligence with the light of Christ and the graces of the Holy Spirit. Fasting tempers the will, teaching us to deny ourselves and that “no pain, no gain” is every bit a part of the spiritual life as it is the natural order. Almsgiving mortifies our passions, our tendencies toward selfishness: do I really need another shirt or trinket or toy when my neighbor hasn’t enough to heat the house, clothe the kids — or feed them? How can I not seek to feed the hungry when I am never hungry?

We are all afflicted in one measure or another by selfishness, self-centeredness, self-seeking; desires for advancement, for vengeance, for vindication: we are all afflicted by pride. Our Catholic faith teaches us that the ordinary means — recourse to the sacraments, daily prayer, prayerful reading of Holy Scripture, fasting, and alsmgiving — are generally sufficient to help us attain victory over sin and vice, leading us into the joy of the Gospel and into confidence that we, too, can shed the light of Christ. If we lack this joy and confidence, perhaps it is because we are not using all of the ordinary means. St. Augustine reminds us that God, who created us without us, will not save us without us. For fullness of life, we must use fullness of means, forsake what needs forsaking and endure what needs enduring, so that we may love God and others as we ought.